Spring in England--and one of those perfect spring days in which
all rural England looks like a garden. The landscape was especially
beautiful to American eyes, after the more rugged views of Transatlantic
scenery. The hedges were closely clipped, the fields of the deepest
green, and the hills far away were blue and hazy in the distance.

"There is no getting over the fact," said Morris, "that this is the
prettiest country in the whole world."

During most of the journey Katherine Earle sat back in her corner of the
first-class compartment, and gazed silently out of the flying windows.
She seemed too deeply impressed with the beauty of the scene to care for
conversation even with the man she was to marry. At last they stopped
at a pretty little rural station, with the name of the place done in
flowers of vivid colour that stood out against the brown of the earth
around, them and the green turf which formed the sloping bank.

"Now," said George, as they stood on the platform, "whither away? Which
direction?"

"I want to see," said she, "a real, genuine, old English country home."
"A castle?"

"No, not a castle."

"Oh, I know what you want. Something like Haddon Hall, or that sort of
thing. An old manor house. Well, wait a minute, and I'll talk to the
station master, and find out all there is about this part of the
country."